


if being him is who you are / say it loud say you know you are

by ameliajessica



Series: evolve [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Beast, Anal Sex, Idiots in Love, Idiots in Love Who Shouldn't Add Another Person to Their Bullshit, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Season 1, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliajessica/pseuds/ameliajessica
Summary: "He doesn’t think anything of it, in the moment. "I called dibs". Eliot was always pointing other guys he found hot. Mike figured it was his way of keeping him on his toes, teasingly reminding him that he had other prospects, and more importantly, a wider interest."Or, based the "he's pretty" / "I know, but I called dibs" exchange: sometimes threesomes get... complicated when two of the people are in love and won't admit it.





	if being him is who you are / say it loud say you know you are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knifetop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifetop/gifts).

> sometimes when you are writing a long, painfully emotional fic your brain thinks up of something extremely horny and messed up and you have to put everything aside to fulfill that urgent task. this is the product of that moment. i apologise to everyone quentin and eliot mess up by being completely and ridiculously into each other and only each other.
> 
> special shout out to the babe g (knifetop), who indulges me on whatsapp every day and whose daily conversations bring me lots of catharsis and happy giggles about these idiots, at one point resulting in the original idea of 'what if they got into a threesome with mike and it was a horny love mess'. and for continuing to allow me to take up too much of her time as a headcanon and idea springboard. love u
> 
> (don't worry - this is not a polyam fic, lmao. i don't have the emotional bandwidth. we're strictly queliot in this house.)

He doesn’t think anything of it, in the moment. _ I called dibs_. Eliot is always pointing other guys he found hot. Mike figures it's his way of keeping him on his toes, teasingly reminding him that he had other prospects, and more importantly, a wider interest. An insecure tick, he imagines, but also not wrong to call out. Eliot is stupidly hot, hot in ways a less secure guy than Mike would freak out about how to keep around. But Mike likes it, to be completely honest. He likes knowing that despite his wandering gaze, and penchant for high-strung presumed-straight boys, he was diving into _ Mike’s _ bed every night. Pulling _ his _ hair, calling out _ his _ name. Plus, he’s been too happy with the domestic nature of the interaction. Him and Eliot, over the grill, teasing the first years as the happy, stable couple. And he’d said Quentin was pretty, first, right? Because, shit, he _ was_. 

It doesn’t mean anything in the moment. But once El had said it, _ I know, but I called dibs, _Mike notices it more and more.

Maybe it was that he realizes exactly how lacking in variety Eliot’s wayward flirting was. How it doesn’t matter what they would be doing, if Quentin Coldwater makes his presence known in the cottage in any way, it _ affects _Eliot. Make outs end a lot sooner if they’re upstairs - if they’re downstairs, they get more and more fervent, until Q walks in, sputtering an apology and stumbling out. Eliot’s mouth grins against his, wickedly pleased, until he pushes off, smugly meeting Mike’s eyes like they’ve done something very clever and goes to follow Quentin. The same as Eliot, Mike starts to recognize the specific pitter-patter of Quentin’s feet when he comes in, because he’s learnt the way Eliot’s posture changes, and he braces himself to be pressed against a sofa, or a wall.

And it’s smaller ways too. Like, Mike doesn’t talk too much, never really has. He’d much rather listen to whatever someone like Eliot is saying, and doesn’t mind that Eliot doesn’t ask him too much about him. But when Q is there, Eliot basically only talks to him. And he’s asking Quentin questions all the time - mostly teasing prods, seeking to get a reaction from him and acting beside himself with delight when he succeeds, cooing over _ precious little Q _while Quentin snaps at him, grumpy and petulant. 

The only thing - the _ one _ thing that worries Mike, is when Eliot asks Quentin… well, real stuff. Questions about his day, or homework, or his opinion on something, and Eliot watches him with this fond expression, endless patience for Q’s nervous, excited rambling. He doesn’t think Eliot even means to, but in turn Q preens under Eliot’s genuine, serious attention. Usually Quentin catches himself with a small laugh, starting to apologize or wrap it up, _ uh, well, anyway_, but that’s when El says something like, _ no, no I’m listening_, low and encouraging. It’s so private, so unspeakably intimate, and it’s the only times that Mike actually feels like he’s not enough for Eliot. That if left unattended, it might be more than his gaze that might wander. 

So he does what any worried boyfriend does for his sexually fluid beau. He asks Eliot if he’d like to have a threesome.

“Oh,” Eliot says slowly, biting down on Mike’s lip. Interested. Good, that makes Mike less nervous about the next part. 

“With Quentin.”

It’s almost comical. Eliot halts altogether, jerking back to meet Mike’s eyes. It hurts - his teeth still on Mike’s lip. And fucking Christ, Eliot looks like a kid caught with his hand halfway down the cookie jar. “You… you want to sleep with Q?”

“Don’t you?” he counters, harsher than he means to, then course-corrects, petting Eliot’s hair. “I mean, you called dibs for a reason, right?”

Eliot’s breathing stutters, staring at him with impossible fear. "_Mike… _”

“All I’m saying,” he says, stroking along Eliot’s jaw the way he’d learnt he likes, loving the way Eliot shudders, _ just for him, _“is that it would be such a shame to not honor the dibs system. To not take advantage. I wouldn’t mind, baby.”

“I think he’s with Alice, now,” Eliot says, voice laced with… something. _ Something_. And shit, to hear it Mike panics all the more. Panics at that being Eliot’s only reason, and how forlorn he sounds to acknowledge it. “And I don’t think she’d be one for sharing.”

He doesn’t point out, Mike notes, that they don’t know if Q is even queer. 

“Well, it doesn’t have to be Quentin,” Mike lies. He’s not interested in fucking someone else with Eliot - well, he’s not _ not _ interested, but the idea was to get Quentin, specifically, out of Eliot’s system. “I just… I hope you know that you don’t have to hold back, because of me. I know you don’t make a habit of… monogamy, or at least, didn’t, before me and I don’t want you to think you have to give anything up. Anything you’re interested in, sexually, I want to experience _ with _ you.”

“I don’t need anything but you, baby,” Eliot says, leaning over Mike. 

His eyes trace all over Mike’s face, more present with him than he has been in a long time, and it’s easy for Mike to tell himself Eliot means it. 

*

But the sex starts being terrible, actually. First of all, it’s the least amount of sex he’s ever had in his life, or that sex that’s he’s actually managed to get to the end of. Remember before, when knowing Q was in the house would stir Eliot to do _ something _more - even if that something was driving wrap things up as quickly as possible? Now Eliot freezes and climbs off Mike at the sound of Quentin’s voice carrying upstairs, mumbling a different, shittier excuse every time. He looks guilty too, but Mike can’t work out if it’s because by even suggesting the intercourse, it’s thrown the very idea of it to the forefront of Eliot’s mind and he can’t focus on anything else when he’s reminded of it. Or if it’s something else. Because sometimes, if they’re in the living room, and Q walks in, when he pulls away Eliot eyes Quentin apologetically, usually excusing himself not long after.

The thing is, the more skittish Eliot acts around Q, the more Q flutters to him, desperate to get back the attention he had acted so unhappy to endure before. The more Q pushes - asking after him; moving seats to be minutely closer; casually sidling up to him, _ whatcha doin’ _ \- the more El pulls away, and of course it does reach a breaking point. Q stops trying and Eliot becomes all the more visibly miserable. It’s this sad, pining game of cat-and-mouse that would be sweet to watch under other circumstances, but both parties are so oblivious it just feels interminable and boring and it becomes more and more blindingly obvious that if they would just _ fuck_, it would solve everyone’s problems. Even Margo is sick of it, storming out whenever Q is around because she _ is too fucking old to stomach googly eyes. _

And of course Mike feels totally at fault, as much as it worries him more and more to see the extent of the damage it does to Eliot, trying to remove Quentin from his life. He’s clearly fucked up what was a perfectly healthy, erring-on-the-side-of-flirty friendship with his own, stupid insecurities - and, in all likelihood, his own relationship along with it. 

His salvation comes unexpectedly, and in the form of Alice Quinn storming out of the cottage. “_Don’t _ follow me, Quentin. You don’t get to anymore,” she says, to Quentin, who is very much trying to follow her. The door slams. Q turns to the rest of them, gathered in the living room. He meets Mike’s gaze, then Eliot’s, and his lower lip trembles before he runs back up to his room. Eliot watches him go, hunger and longing and wonder all over his face.

_ Oh yes_, thinks Mike, this _ is the time to shine. _

*

He doesn’t set out with a plan, exactly. It’s more that he’s sitting there at another Eliot party, watching as Eliot dutifully performs as host with none of the usual joie de vivre. None of his smile reach his eyes and as the party reaches its peak, he removes himself almost entirely, as if now that his job is done, he could go back to what he wanted to do. Which was sulk, in the corner, his face blank as he downed drink after drink after drink. How very Quentin of him.

Mike exchanges looks with Margo. Margo, who knows a lot more than she’s letting Eliot know. But her and Eliot sit in this weird place, too scared to acknowledge anything real or sad because so much of their relationship is how much fun they have together, how happy and free they make the other. So, that responsibility falls to Mike now. 

And lucky for Margo - and Eliot, really, even if he doesn’t know it yet - that’s when it falls into place.

“Where’s Q?” he says to Eliot, as if it’s just occurred to him that Quentin wasn’t here. Eliot’s scowls. 

“Dick-deep in a _Fillory_ book, in all likelihood,” he says, reaching for another drink. “You’re dry - what do you want?”

“I want to go talk to him,” Mike says. “You know, see if he’s okay.”

Eliot eyes him suspiciously - which, is more than a little fair. He’s hardly jumped at the opportunity to be Quentin’s friend before. More like, has been present at the same time, in the same room where Quentin is, and makes the necessary polite conversation until Eliot arrives and demands they both pay attention to him. The only time he’s ever shown any interest in Quentin was when… well. _ Exactly_.

“Eliot,” he says. “Come on, you saw earlier. And you know. It’s Q.”

It seems to get through a little, something softening in Eliot, just at the mention of Q, who is probably sat by himself in his room, miserably turning the pages of a book he has memorized. As a reaction, it’s promising for what he has is mind. _ Come on, Eliot. Q needs cheering up. Let’s take his mind off things. Why don’t you help me take this off… why don’t you touch him there, I think he’d like it… _

But it slides away, Eliot rolling his shoulders into a straighter, proud posture. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be ready with enough alcohol to actually knock you out when you return, exhausted from a subversive fantasy lecture.”

So Mike heads up by himself. Not ideal. But he knows Eliot, and he knows he’s obsessed enough with both him and Quentin that he won’t let the two of them hang out without sticking his nose in the door at least. He just has to kill time until the wheels in Eliot’s head spin him out of his mind and force him to come upstairs. 

Which is very easy. He knocks a gentle pattern on the door, hears a grumpy, soft, “Yeah?” and opens the door to find Quentin exactly where Eliot said he would be. His back rests against the headboard, shoulder basically up to his ears. It can’t be comfortable, but given the number of other books scattered around him, he’s struggling to settle into something that actually relaxes him. 

Perfect.

“Hey man,” he says jovially. He clearly wasn’t who Quentin expected - usually it’s Margo, or Julia, or Eliot who will take a trip upstairs to bring him down. By his defensive posture, he’d guess he was waiting for Margo, who had been especially ticked off with him recently. Julia and Eliot are a lot more gentle in prying him away from the bed.

Or maybe he was waiting for Eliot - or at least, hoping, because he looks at Mike, then his eyes dart behind him, surprised and then disappointed that he’s come up alone.

_ Perfect. _

“Hi,” Quentin says, turning back to his book. He was uncharacteristically bratty, considering he was talking to Mike. He usually reserved that kind of behavior for Eliot. But that was fine too. The more tightly wound, the more Eliot would enjoy pulling him apart. 

“You’re missed at the party, you know.” Mike sits by the foot of the bed.

Quentin snorts. “I very much doubt that.” A page is turned harshly.

“Well _ I _miss you at the party.” Quentin looked at him like Mike had gone insane. “What? I like you, Quentin. I hope that’s not a complete surprise.”

Quentin looks a little guilty, probably because it is a surprise. The thing is Mike isn’t lying. He really does have nothing against Quentin, except the little pang of emotion he evokes that his boyfriend likes him to an exceptional degree, which is what he was here to deal with. So - no beef with Quentin. Even if he hadn’t decided to cater to Eliot’s very specific taste, he’d be perfectly down to sleep with Quentin. He was sweet and thoughtful, if a little jittery. He would ask Mike about his life, events coming up, and would remember to bring them up the next time they saw each other, and he’d ask like he genuinely cared. Like he’d been storing that nugget of information very deliberately. And for someone so nervous he was good at looking you in the eye when you talked.

Plus, Mike notes as Quentin bites his lip, he really is pretty.

“Right. Well, uh, I like you too.” Ever polite. Mike smiles - a real smile, charmed. “I’m just not really, uh, a particularly interesting addition to a party setting.”

“Me neither, to be honest.” Again, true. “I mostly try and just sit there and look pretty for Eliot. I’m sure you can relate to that.” 

Quentin blinks, bewildered, but not _ repulsed_. More like, not sure he had heard right - or that he had, but is convinced it can’t mean what he _ thinks _ it means. He looks at Mike with a sizable degree of suspicion.

“I’m, um. Mike --”

“What’re you reading, anyway?” 

“_Fillory and Further _,” Quentin says, with palpable relief at the change of subject. He sits up, crossing his legs to make more room for Mike, “the, uh, third one.” 

Without any prompting, Quentin starts to explain himself, and why the third volume had merited his particular attention at this particular time. Mike kicks off his shoes, pulling his legs onto the bed and pretending to be intensely interested in the map Quentin is showing him. Quentin is leaning over a little, probably not even realizing their heads are so close because he’s so engrossed in explaining the world to Mike. His hair is falling in his eyes, and he’s not even tucking it behind his ear - his favorite nervous habit. 

So Mike does it for him, kind of delights in how it totally stops Quentin in his tracks. _ God _ he’s so much, this _ nerve _ of surprise and desire in equal measure. Every touch affects him. When Mike’s hand moves to his cheek, Quentin is fully holding his breath. He’s starting to see the appeal.

“_Breathe_, Quentin,” he says, slow and flirty.

“What are you doing?” he says tightly, but his eyes flicker to Mike’s mouth.

“I think you’ll figure it out.” He moves closer, closer, and Quentin makes a noise of confusion, but doesn’t turn away, doesn’t do anything at all even though Mike is absolutely him giving enough time and space to do so, and his lips part-- 

“What the fuck,” Eliot says plainly, from the doorway. 

“Eliot, I--” Quentin scrambles away, knocking books all over the floor. 

“It’s okay,” Mike says to Quentin, hand on his calf to keep him close. “Really, Quentin. Isn’t it, Eliot?”

“Mike,” says Eliot, voice low as the anger starts to build. “We talked about this.”

“You did?” Quentin squeaks. “You mean… about - about _ me_?”

Eliot’s gaze flickers to him, opens his mouth and visibly makes the decision to ignore that question.

“We did,” Mike says to Quentin. His hand moves up and down Quentin’s leg. “We talked about you. Wanting you. Does that surprise you?”

A shaky breath come out of Quentin, then another that sounds like a laugh. “Does that-- yeah that surprises me, Mike. Neither of you ever-- _mentioned it_ at all, so yeah, it's a little _surprising_, to say the least. I mean, I... is that-- is that why you’ve been weird with me, El?”

Eliot works his jaw and stoically stares at a point just next to the two of them. 

“Would that be something you want too, Quentin?” asks Mike, trying to keep focus. 

But Quentin won’t tear his eyes off Eliot, expression wide open with devastation. “Eliot?” he says, hurt and lost and _ pleading_.

“Eliot wants you.” Eliot looks at Mike, like he has _ fully _ lost his mind, but then, more shyly, he checks out Quentin, trying to gauge his reaction to all of this. To Mike’s hand on him, telling Eliot’s secrets. Eliot, and his damning, deliberate silence. “And I do, too. I want this for us. All we need to know is if you do.”

Quentin breathes out sharply, starting to take in shallow, shaky breaths. “Hey, hey, hey,” Mike says, going up to his knees. He shuts his eyes against Mike’s closeness, almost flinching in how overwhelmed he is. 

“_Mike, _” Eliot warns, but fails to draw any sense of authority because of how dejected he sounds. 

“Just answer the question, Q,” Mike presses, probably going over the line at this point and at all caring because fuck, if Eliot would just _ shut up_, he’s _ almost _ there, he can _ taste _it. “Yes, or no.” 

Mike squeezes Quentin’s knee. Eliot is saying Mike’s name again, somewhere far away, but Quentin, _ Quentin_, forces out, “I-- Jesus, yes. _ Yes_,” and Eliot stops.

“Shut the door Eliot,” Mike says, and then pulls Eliot towards him for a kiss when does.

Eliot’s kissing is entirely more tentative than usual, definitely too aware of Q _ right there _and maybe still not convinced that this is happening, or that it isn’t going to blow up in his face. He tries to make what he hopes are soothing sounds, rubbing his thumbs on his waist and starting to undress him. “You keep doing that,” he says to Eliot, “It’s Quentin’s turn now.”

He moves up the bed, sitting on Q’s right, and pulls him into a kiss before Quentin has the chance to have an aneurysm about it. He’s even more careful than Eliot, but there’s want there too, like he’s going to start kissing _ wrong _ and it’ll all be over, far too soon. Mike just keeps kissing him and pulling off items of clothing until he feels the bed dip with Eliot’s weight, close behind Mike. 

Mike stands and the two of them watch him, helpless. “Well don’t mind me, you guys go ahead.”

At the very idea, Quentin curls in on himself, only in his underwear and suddenly very self-conscious about it. Eliot, seeing this, looks like he’s about to hurl. God, what a pitiful menage this is shaping up to be. Mike shrugs out of his clothes before they can really let it go sour. 

If he has to take charge, he’ll take it dammit. Sexually, he’s no Eliot, but this is by no means his first rodeo.

With some maneuvering, Mike ends up stroking Q from behind, cock still inside his boxers. Experimentally pressing a kiss to his shoulder, he gives a happy hum when Q whimpers. Eliot, resting against the headboard, for his first move, just holds Q’s face. Forces their twin heady gazes to be locked on each other, practically breathing in from each other’s mouths. Eliot isn’t even being touched by anyone, just eyes locked on Quentin’s as Mike pulls him off. Q breaks first, as their foreheads press together, with a choked moan, surging forward to kiss him. His arms flail a little, having thrown them around Eliot’s neck for purchase and not quite steadying, but he settles with hands on either side Eliot’s throat. Eliot wraps himself around Quentin, one around his back to keep him where he is, the other threaded in the back of his head, gripping Q’s hair. 

The first time Mike and Eliot slept together, Eliot was as suave and in control as he had been through every date, every interaction they’d had thus far. The only time he’d seen a break in the facade was when Eliot came, when Mike had called him _ sweetheart _ and then said, _ “come on, Eliot, come for me, I want to see.” _And that had been when Eliot told him about Indiana.

This is different. Eliot is still the one in charge, bossing Quentin around to go _ here _ and _ now here _ , but he’s, in his own way, utterly at Q’s mercy too. He blows Q, with Quentin sprawled back against Mike’s chest, like it’s something precious and important he’s been tasked with. Watching his face with every move, every touch, making sure Quentin enjoys every _ second _ of this. In a breathless outburst, Quentin begs, _ Eliot please, please fuck me, _ and even though he’s been left out of the threesome for significant part of it now, Mike doesn’t really mind. Really, this was what it had all been leading to. He thought this would be a great moment of triumph for Eliot - _ the conquest of Quentin Coldwater _ \- but there’s no hint of smugness from him. He’s deliberate, he’s attentive, but not at all confident. 

“Good, Q?” he keeps asking, over and over, like there’s a _ wrong, not good _ way for Eliot Waugh to stick his fingers in your ass. Mike watches over Eliot’s shoulder, Q on his back on the bed below them both.

“You know it is,” Q whines, wiggling his hips impatiently, like Eliot is teasing, and not seeing that he isn’t at all. 

Mike knows all of Eliot’s moves, knows his sexual flourishes. Eliot is using virtually none of them in this moment, which should feel great, knowing he saves them for his actual boyfriend. 

But the problem is that he’s never had _ this _ Eliot. Worried, nervous and so, so needy for knowing he’s doing a good job, that he’s _ making you feel good, baby _ , and needing you to moan back for him to believe it. Cataloging every reaction, his own need going unnoticed until Quentin tries to pull him up by his hips, and Eliot takes that as signal he can enter him. When he is inside, his abs contract like he’s being punched, arms shaking as he tries to hold himself above Q and move. He’s a _ wreck_.

This Eliot belongs to Q. Possibly, only Q alone. 

Q is so lost he isn’t even _ noticing, _ his eyes barely open from pleasure. He’s _ missing it _ , and that alone is driving Mike crazy. He’s taking it all for granted, like this is just what sex with Eliot is _ like _ , inherently. And sex with Eliot is awesome, it’s even wonderful, but if Eliot looked at Mike like _ this, _ wanted _ this _desperately to make Mike lose his whole mind… 

That line of thinking is the first trickle of _ oh, maybe… maybe this wasn’t such a good idea _… 

When Q comes it happens like it’s tugged out of him painfully, but there’s a peace to it. Like the white noise of his head finally shuts up, and it’s this, _ just this_, _ ah, ah, ah, _ taking up his whole world. Eliot drinks it in, dutifully wrapping a hand around Quentin’s cock to prolong it.

Mike knows what Eliot’s like when he comes. He’d recognize it with eyes closed. Could describe it pretty well under duress. 

But not this. Not watching through half-lidded eyes, trying hard to keep them open because he’s desperate to not miss any of it, any of Quentin coming under him, and around his cock. Hip thrusts losing their rhythm. His mouth, hanging open as he pants and groans for his life, like the pleasure is too much, like it’s too much to contain in his body. 

“Q,” he forces out, voice catching. The first time he’s spoken his name. It comes out like he’s the only person in the world.

Sleepy and sensitive, he’s making quiet little whimpers with every push into him Eliot makes. His face is turned into the pillow, taking it like some indulgent dream. But he stirs when Eliot calls for him, and reaches up. 

Mike watches as Q cups Eliot’s jaw. His thumb brushing the spot - the one Eliot had taught Mike was his weak spot, flushed to have such a vanilla erogenous zone - without having ever being told to. It communicates something to Eliot, who bows his head, his sharp exhale a relieved shout, and moves once, twice like it pains him. Some confidence has risen up in Q now that he’s had his own orgasm. He pushes up to his elbows, then sits in Eliot’s lap, trailing kisses down Eliot’s neck. Eliot lets out a sound like feeling this good is agony. 

Lips on Eliot’s throat, Q’s gaze catches Mike’s. He sees the initial possessive glint in Q’s eye, as he holds Eliot to him, blink away to something guilty, and he opens his mouth, looking like he’s going to speak, but it’s at that moment that Eliot comes, loud nonsense words escaping him. He nuzzles his face into Quentin’s shoulder, in the aftershocks, still needy for him. 

They do remember, after a few moments, that Mike is _ also there _ , even as Mike is barely hard anymore. Doesn’t know how to be, after what’s happened. Eliot takes longer to look over his shoulder, only doing so to follow where Quentin is looking. He blinks lazily at first, only just coming back to the world, and then, seeing something in Mike’s face, also matches Quentin’s horror. He drops his arms from where he’d been cradling Quentin. Mike is dreading the obligation blowjob Eliot is about to give him, like, _ sorry I haven’t touched you this whole time_, not even imagining how Q will seek to make himself useful, when--

“Quentin--”

Alice Quinn walks in. Does not finish her sentence. She takes several seconds to process the image in front of her. Of all things she was expecting to find in Quentin’s room, Eliot _ with his dick still in Quentin’s ass _ is clearly (and understandably) the last thing on the list. 

“Alice,” Quentin says. “I--” 

No words come to him either. But it wakes up Alice, who slams the door behind her. Quentin shoves away from them both - Eliot winces at the loss - and scoops up his clothes. He casts one last glance at them both, taking special care to not linger on Eliot, and heads out. His hair is a mess, his mouth bruised. His fly is down. Anyone who sees him will know he’s been thoroughly, absolutely fucked through a mattress. He can’t imagine that’ll go down well in a _ no, baby, it didn’t mean anything _conversation.

About to crack a joke, Mike sees Eliot’s face - unmistakably heartbroken, and without a single trace of regret or guilt. 

And only then does he realize his plan has spectacularly backfired. 

*

It’s lucky that Mike doesn’t have too much shit to pack up. Lucky, not just because he hates fucking packing, but it means he didn’t get too deep into this before realizing the guy he’s falling for is head over ass into someone else, without even knowing it. Mike, who has two Magical Masters degrees, is too old for this shit. The time has come to put away childish things - which means here that he breaks up with Eliot, tells him to fucking talk to Quentin, and makes to go back to New York.

He has no idea if he does, given his fervent denial that Mike was _ wrong _ , he _ didn’t _ have feelings for Eliot, not _ real _ feelings, even though Mike had been fucking _ there_, to see every tiny, grateful reaction of Q’s at just being there with Eliot. And in turn, the quiet, awed devastation Eliot had at pulling apart Q. Mike’s been in love. He knows what it looks like. It’s never been quite this needlessly intense, in his experience, but po-tay-to, po-tah-to. 

“We can… still make this work,” Eliot says meekly. One last try.

“I don’t think you want us to,” says Mike, and when Eliot has nothing else to say, leaves it at that.

Eliot is blessedly absent when he’s gathering the last of his things from his room. He passes Margo downstairs, who doesn’t greet him, but does cast him a surprisingly generous sad, apologetic look. He’d thought once they had a similar grasp on Eliot - that though Margo was more advanced, Mike was there too, on the same frequency and catching up, but thinking back… she probably saw this much coming. Meanwhile Mike was too confident that one fuck with Quentin would make all the Quentin problems go away, instead of realizing what the Quentin of it all really meant. Margo probably had. All he gets is that one look, and then she goes back to sipping her tea.

He does have one awkward interaction with Alice, bumping into her in the hallway. He has no idea what to say to her, if she even wants an apology from him - this is kind of his fault, he’s very aware of that - but she says, “We were technically broken up.” Very matter-of-fact.

“I, uh. Is that good?”

“Not really,” she says, with a bitter smile. “But at least I know now.”

Yeah. Yeah, actually Mike really understands that.

It’s Quentin who sees him off, in one predictably painful twist of fate. What’s worse, he’s _ talking_. “I um. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for _ this. _To happen.” 

“Yeah, Eliot’s already filled me in on all that so you don’t have to waste your breath.” A mean thing to say, he knows, but the blushing, fluttering act has gotten fucking old, and he’s not as endlessly charmed by it as Eliot is. 

Q fidgets with his sleeves, stirring up something in Mike and well _ shit_, maybe he’s not completely immune. 

“Look,” he sighs, because he’s the elder here. He can be _ generous_. “It’s simple, at the end of the day. Eliot wants you, and he wants only you, even if he won’t admit it yet. But he will. And you want him too. I wish I didn’t have to be witness to both of you finally realizing that, but it’s done now. There doesn’t have to be more upset than that.” 

He still doesn’t look convinced. “I just. I’ve never... stolen someone’s boyfriend before.” 

How _ high school_. Mike can’t help it, he laughs. Feels a little glad that he’s going to move onto a more boring, stable relationship, at least one day. “Boyfriends can’t be stolen unless they don’t want to stay in first place,” he says dryly. “What’s the alternative? I _ don’t _ break up with Eliot until he and I resent each other and break up anyway, and you’re miserably pining away in the background in the meantime? Why choose what would make all three of us miserable, Quentin?” 

Q says nothing. Until he says, “You’re, um… really nice.” 

“Yeah,” Mike says with a bitter laugh, even as he thinks _ I’m just a grown up and you’re not yet_. Neither is Eliot. They really are perfect for each other. That makes this easier. “You are, too.”

“I am sorry, though. Really.”

“Don’t be,” says Mike, patting Q on the head. “Just… don’t let him go. He’ll try and make you, but don’t let him.”

Q nods, determined. He gets it. Gets it already.

Mike smiles, and goes home.

**Author's Note:**

> your girl is on tumblr @ameliajessica. come yell at me about the finale anytime, baby
> 
> title is from evolve by phoria (aka from 3x05) because a bitch is FUCKED UP


End file.
